


"Shall We Dance?"

by bluesquare



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Adam is Emotionally Constipated and You Just Want to Throttle Him, And Definitely Rain Kisses in One Chapter, Blood, Chaos Ensues, Definite Kissing, Despite Being Correctly Typed, Did I Mention Fancy Dresswear?, F/M, Lowkey Peeved Adam's Name won't Capitalize in the Tags, Romance, There's One Instance of Non-Con Kissing in Chapter 5 and it's Meant to be Squicky, They Make Sure Feelings Ensue, Things Obviously Don't Go According to Plan, Undercover Missions, Undercover as a Couple, Unit Bravo is Here to Remedy That, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 13:19:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14057808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluesquare/pseuds/bluesquare
Summary: Prompt: MC and the Bravo go undercover in a fancy party for a mission. Of course, nothing goes according to plan. Chaos (and feelings) ensueCross-posted from tumblr





	1. Chapter 1: How to Piss Off Your Not Girlfriend in 5 Minutes or Less

**Author's Note:**

> This was done before Book 1 was actually released. So if there are inconsistencies, such as what the MC's blood can actually do, it's because of that
> 
> Having said that though, please enjoy! If you have any comments feel free to leave them here or shoot it back at my tumblr (squarelyblue)

“Target heading to your six. A few paces west from Felix,” Emma heard Nate radio in to her and her ‘date’ for the evening. Adam’s glance turned towards the middle of the ballroom where “Etienne Henri” — or rather an incubus known as Pierre Moreau to the agency — was busy flirting with several of his admirers.

“Good catch. I suppose now is the time to make our introductions, Miss King.”

Ilsa King. Her name for tonight and as far this mission takes them. While she didn’t mind going undercover —even if using glamour charms were a thing she’d never get used to — the way her pseudonym rolled off her companion’s tongue made her slightly regretful that it wasn’t her own name that graced his lips. Especially considering the telephone booth incident a few days ago — an issue that neither of them had been willing to address.

_Put yourself together. This is not the time to think about…how complicated things are between you two._

Slipping her jeweled hand under his — as if the thought hadn’t crossed her mind — Emma took a deep breath in, as Adam turned to led the way. The stakes for this mission were particularly high. Moreau was the lynchpin to a lot of sources, and perhaps the only one who had any reliable intel for the vampire they were looking for.

A risk worth taking.

So the plan was to have her corner him before drawing out the intel they needed —using force if necessary — while Unit Bravo would discreetly tag along as back up. Though everyone prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

Stealing a glance at Adam, Emma wondered how he felt about the whole thing. Granted she knew she could handle herself if things got messy but still. She knew that if it had been the other way around, if Adam was the one who had to seduce Moreau (despite logically, that job would’ve fallen to Felix), it would not have sat well with her either.

_But why would that bother you? It’s a job, nothing personal about it at all, and it’s not as if he’s your…well he’s not with you and you shouldn’t presume anything with that man. Vampire. You know very well what you meant._

Emma sighed, her brows furrowing at the growing frustrations bubbling in her chest. If it had been the reverse, she could trust Adam at the very least to complete the mission responsibly, she supposed. Sighing to herself, tonight was going to be a long night

_You are a professional, Em. Act like one._

“Detective,” Adam began, momentarily halting, “are you alright?”

“Huh?”

“You’re gripping my arm tighter.”

Emma then removed her hand, a slow blush creeping at her neck in embarrassment. “Oh. Sorry about that. It’s just that tonight has me a little—”

“Nervous?”

_Right. Let’s go with that._

“Yeah. You can say that. I mean, a lot is riding on my…performance. Thank god I was a theatre kid right?”

Adam quirked a brow at her; lips pressed into a fine line at her attempt at humour. He then adjusted his cuffs, as if the discussion had something to do with the weather instead of the possibility of her dying. “We’ll find another way in.”

Emma’s eyes widened. Mr. The-Mission-Comes-First changing parameters? While Adam was always the first to adjust to any mission mishaps, there was a small part of her that suspected it had to do with the phone booth more than anything else.

_And if it was? Would you be happy? Upset? Shit, Em. Complicated does not suit you at all._

“If you’re wondering about Plan B, I have it figured out and all — materials included.”

“That’s…impressive but why wasn’t I aware of the back up plan?”

Emma saw the guilt that lay behind a rather impassive face. She knew him well enough to see. Maybe too well for both their comforts.

“Your plan was the most efficient by far to be fair.”

“But?”

“It’s a mistake. Too many uncertainties and unneccessary risks that need to happen to succeed.”

Emma slipped her arm from Adam’s. She then took a step back, her cheeks flushed with anger as she tried to steel herself. A part of her hoped perhaps there was more to Adam’s — and to an extent the rest of Bravo’s — duplicity.

“What do you mean?”

“I know I made the error,” he replied, his admittance throwing Emma off, “but it was only because I…wanted to trust you on your plan. But—”

“But what? You said it yourself. It was the most efficient one by far. If you had doubts or something why couldn’t you tell me?”

Adam’s brows furrowed at her. He opened his mouth to speak but instead closed it again, as if reconsidering what to say. He then pocketed his hands and refused to meet her gaze (almost uncharacteristically so).

“I…you…”

“Yes?”

He then looked at her with such a conflicted expression that Emma nearly forget how angry she was a few seconds ago. Adam then shook his head, and this time, met her gaze with his usual martial hardness that she had to think back if the moment before had to be her imagination.

“You’re a human, Detective. And while your sleuthing skills are the most superior to any of your kind, this mission is just too big and dangerous for you. I’m sorry but that’s the truth.”

Emma’s heart suddenly was at her throat. The logical side of her was screaming that Adam was lying — or at least not telling the whole truth — but all she could hear was the static of her fury.

_I worked this hard only to take twenty steps back? What the hell, Adam?!_

_“_ Why all the secrecy then if you thought this was going to fail?”

“I didn’t think it was going to fail. But strictly speaking—”

“So even if for just in case purposes, why didn’t you tell me that there was a back up plan? Was your plan contingent on me  _not_ knowing to succeed? Fucking hell Adam—”

His eyes darkened. “Look. We can discuss this later. But if you’re going to be a child about this then I will personally escort you back to the hotel where you will remain for the rest of the evening until you can behave rationally.”

Tugging her along, Adam then brought his hand to his ear — no doubt about to radio in the rest of the team with new instructions.  _How patronizing._  Anger flashed before Emma’s eyes. She then yanked her hand free from him.

“Don’t kid yourself  _Robert_ ,” Emma snapped, his pseudonym sounding venomous on her lips, “save yourself the bullshit.”

She then exhaled, her eyes boring into Adam’s for one finite moment before pivoting away.

“Emma—”

“Don’t ‘Emma’ me!”

Her heart was drumming in her ears and the thunder of her stubborness drowned out whatever excuses Adam had for her. She slipped into the crowd – forcefully splitting them apart despite Adam’s best efforts to grab her – while bringing her hand to her ear to radio in the rest of the team

“Bravo, Ilsa here. I am going dark. Mission to proceed as planned.”


	2. Chapter Two: Target Locked

Somehow Emma managed to squeeze herself through the gaggle of people vying for Moreau’s attention. While the picture in his dossier was a handsome face, the real thing was something else.

There was a deliberateness to how ridiculously handsome he looked. His suit was tailored to perfection, not one thread frayed or an unwanted crease in sight, showing off a rather trim and built body that no doubt lay underneath the layers of his coat and vest. His dark hair was windblown – or at least given the impression that it was – adding a sort of careless youthful confidence that his eyes only seemed to intensify.

And god were his eyes beautiful.

They were framed by doll-like lashes, long and thick, which only seemed to highlight how green his eyes were. There was something otherworldly about them – no doubt a huge hint as to what he was – that one had to take a second look to be sure that they were looking at someone  _human_. And within the splinter of a moment, before you could come to any reasonable conclusion, he’d have you under his thumb. There was a glimmer of mischief and trouble in his eyes – the good kind, the kind of stolen kisses and breathless afternoons – that made him one forget why they were looking in the first place.

 _So unlike Adam’s_ , Emma found herself thinking. Her broody vampire had green eyes too. But they were the green of loneliness and regret, of stubbornness and pride.

Life had been cruel to him.

And it showed in his eyes.  

They could be harsh, unyielding in his gaze, glazed with a furtiveness that reminded Emma of autumn. To her, Adam was like the storms that happened around that time. Secretive like the morning mist and grey skies. Cold and unforgiving as the salvos of rain beating down the earth — chilling the air wherever he’d go.  

But just as Adam could be frightening and deadly as any storm, he was just as comforting (in the quiet sort of way) as the first showers of the season. He was the air of petrichor when it arose from the ground to kiss the sky its first hello of the season. He was the reassuring hum of the rain’s pitter-pattering lullaby, the kind of slow afternoons with the warmth of a favorite blanket.

Emma’s mind flitted to that one afternoon. She had laid her heart out for him. For the one person she trusted the most, that she felt safest with, the one whose world should have fazed her but didn’t. It was the afternoon she thought would change everything, that should have changed everything.

_But it didn’t did it? After that day everything else continued on as normal. And that’s what hurts the most doesn’t it?_

_You really know how to choose them. You had to fall for complicated._

Emma shook her head. Now was not the time to be preoccupied with personal matters. Taking a deep breath in, she moved through the throng of people, trying to get as close as she could to the front.

_Mission first._

_And besides, you’re supposed to be upset with him remember._

Emma’s mouth tightened. Her fists clenched themselves so tight that her nails dug crescents onto the skin of her palm.  _Concentrate. It’s do or die._

”Oh Etienne, Sara told me you’re quite the dancer!“ A buxomy blonde pouted at the incubus, pressing her body close to his. “Why not dance with me?”

Moreau chuckled, bringing the girl’s hand to his shapely lips. “Ah but  _ma puce_ ,” he began, letting out a light French accent that punctuated the endearment, “I wouldn’t even know what dance to start with.”

_Bingo_

“Perhaps the tango,” Emma found herself saying. Taking a sauntering step forward, she clacked the heel of her shoe against the marble floors.  _Command his attention. Incubi like the hunt._ “Though, in my experience, most of my partners have never measured up.”

“What a shame.”

Moreau took a step towards her, momentarily forgetting his “escort” for the evening. A smirk settled on him, as he brought his thumb to graze over his lips. There was a flicker of interest in his gaze as he bowed from the waist; right before extending his hand. “I should rectify that.”

Emma then took his hand and found herself being twirled into his arms. They were now a breath apart – even she couldn’t stop the blush spreading down her neck – as he positioned their arms into the proper stance.

“Ilsa King.”

“Ilsa,” drawling out her ‘name’ in the way that lovers do, “what a beautiful name.”

“Do you say that to all the girls or just me?”

Moreau chuckled back. “I wasn’t expecting someone to match wits tonight. But clearly,” he said, his breath ghosting her cheek, “I was mistaken.”

“In a good way or bad?”

“In the best way.”

And with the first few beats of the song, they began.


	3. Chapter Three: T-A-N-G-O

Emma had come prepared, or at least she thought she had been.  _Keep to your wits, Em. Remember that he’s a desire demon whose turn ons include murder, before, after, and/or during a bedroom session. Your blood might not be a perfect form of protection but it should buy you some time to throw off his thrall._

But now, as Moreau leaned in for the first turn, Emma’s cheeks, which still hadn’t recovered from their first blushing, was threatening to turn into a brilliant scarlet. There was the sudden regret that she should’ve picked something less…distracting.  

The tango was hardly any dance. It was a seduction: to light a fire where there might’ve been none. What better way to catch an incubus than with a dance with a notoriety for the sensual?  

Most would assume the carnality of the tango was because of how close the dancers were: breaths mingling and a kiss away. Palms pressed so hard against one another that their heartbeats became hard to tell which thrum belonged to who. Legs tangled in hooks and slides and glides as if they had always been one. The thrill was in the air, ripe for the heady static that clung to the ballroom,

Which might’ve been true for the other dancers, but not for Moreau and Emma.

He held her close but that wasn’t what brought her heart to a halt.

It was his eyes.

_Slow_

_Slow._

_Quick. Quick_

_Slow_

As Moreau, no Etienne, spun her into his arms he looked at her as if she was the only one in the room who mattered. She wasn’t a second rate detective, a nobody from the middle of nowhere, a pale shadow of her parents’ greatness. He looked at her as if she was  _someone._

 _She_  mattered.

There was no past or history to talk about. There was only the present, the  _now_ , that concerned them. Where would this conversation of tangled limbs go? Even if Etienne did not speak, the intensity of his gaze told Emma all she needed to know. In the wake of his steps was a confession meant just for her. He moved as if he wanted to be with her: no hesitancy, just…conviction and ardor. Every step, spin, and slide, was deliberate —  _felt_  deliberate. From the way his palm curled around her waist to the way his eyes never left hers, Emma  

The logical side of her reasoned that it was simply curiosity, after all she was bold enough to demand his hand to dance, but her gut told her otherwise. Curiosity was not so soft looking. Curiosity was bright and gleaming, calculating and wide-eyed excitement. This was something else.

And whatever it was, she couldn’t help but to respond in kind.  

As nameless as it was, Emma felt it from the strands of her hair until the ends of her toes. Was it lust? Her mind felt too hazy to think if it was. Etienne  _was_  a beautiful man but Emma’s seen her fair share of beautiful men like—

_Like who? There’s no one right now._

Etienne twirled her out and then back in, Emma’s back leaning against his chest, as his arm snaked around her belly. Keeping up with the tempo, they almost seemed to glide across the ballroom. The steady beating of his heart called out to her, a siren’s song that her body couldn’t help but respond to.

_Slow._

_Slow._

_Quick. Quick_

_Slow._

Heat coursed through her veins. It jolted through her body, whittling away whatever hesitancies she might’ve had. In the midst of the growing fog of her mind, she could see his lips on her neck, his hands slipping under her dress, undoing the zipper of her gown.

Almost instinctively so, she let go of his lead hand to cup his face – a gesture so intimate that the ballroom had gone still. Leaning to her touch, Etienne was so close that she could make out the curve of his lashes, and the exact shade of green of his eyes.

_For tonight. Just tonight._

He then pressed a kiss to her wrist, teeth barely grazing the pulse point – leaving her a little more than breathless as a jolt of desire shot through her veins and down to her core.

_Fuck._

Her focus sharply shifted from his eyes to his lips. Parted slightly, they were a dusky pink, as if rose-soft and just as pliant to touch.  _What would kissing him be like_ , she wondered.

_Wait. A kiss?_

Gone was Etienne, the ballroom, the crowd, and the splendor of the evening. Instead she was back in  _that_  rainy afternoon. Her back against the cold glass of the booth, body chilled from the rain, and the unescapable warmth from Adam’s body pressed up against her own as his lips captured hers.  
  
Over.  
  
And over.  
  
And over again.

Emma exhaled sharply at the memory. The familiar prick of goosebumps dotted in her arms as she remembered the way her hand cradled the back of his head as a tether she could anchor herself to.  _This was happening. This is finally happening._  The hum of his pulse jolted through her fingers, synchronizing with her own heartbeat, as she matched the rhythm of his kisses.

And once they had stopped to breathe, he allowed his forehead to rest against hers – fingers toying with the damp strands of hair that had clung to the sides of her face.  
  
The storm that had so often clouded Adam’s eyes was gone. There was a certain calm and certainty to them that she’s never seen before. It made her believe….

_Believe huh?_

_What an idiot you were._

“You look a little light headed Miss Ilsa,” said Moreau, snapping Emma’s attention back onto the crowded ballroom. “Are you alright?”

He slid his foot against hers, pivoting their direction in one graceful turn.  _Slow. Slow. Quick, quick. Slow. That’s right, you’re still dancing. The night isn’t over yet._

Even if Emma’s mind felt foggy from Moreau’s thrall (or at least it felt that way to her), she cursed herself for forgetting the first rule about the dance: in the midst of bodies held close the tango above all else was a negotiation. A chase. Each step was an utterance, a turn a conversation, and every dip a conclusion.  

_And we’re still talking_

There was a dull throbbing at the back of her skull that reminded her of a cross between an incoming migraine and a hangover. Whatever spell he had cast on her was beginning to take its toll on her. And yet she smiled back at him. “Quite, Etienne.”

_Let him think he’s in control, Emma. You have the element of surprise at this point_

Twisting herself to face him, she then withdrew her hand from his face and slowly trailed them down until they rested on his nape. She clutched him tightly, as if he were hers and hers alone, threading her fingers at the base of his scalp.

“On the contrary, I feel like going somewhere a little more private.”

Emma sank slowly down, hooking her leg against his, as the other gracefully extended back. She could feel Moreau’s hand against her hooked knee as he then spun her into a lift before settling them back into form.

“So forward of you Miss Ilsa–”

“Just Ilsa, please”

His hand then settled on the small of her back – the suggestion of intimacy was not lost upon the detective – as the music began to crescendo. A knowing smile graced Emma’s lips as she spun herself out of his grasp and into the center of the dancefloor.

She then raised her arms, lithely drawing one down to the back of her neck and back to front – with the other sensuously following soon after. Stretching one hand towards Moreau, she curved her pointing finger at him. Her bracelets gleaming under the spotlight — feeling heavier than ever with the weight of her goals.

_You got me once. I don’t plan on making the same mistake twice._


	4. Chapter Four [Interlude]: Real Talk

“Uh, Eagle One, what was that about?”

“Felix—I mean, Whiskey. We settled on Robert Humphry remember? And if you’re talking about Em—I mean Ilsa, then I suppose you could say we fought.”

"No shit Sherlock,” Mason interjected before Felix continued on. “Y’know if you’re going to do the whole broody-jerk-but-secretly-cares-kinda-plan, you are  _awful_  at it. Like  _really_  awful.“

“Wait. How much did you hear?”

“You’re seriously asking that?” The sharp incredulity in Felix’s voice was strong enough to make Adam almost blush out of embarrassment. “ _Dude_.”

“We’ve been living  _all of that_  since last month,” Mason said. The bored measure of his voice made the sentence more matter of fact than an outright accusation. “You guys should just get a room or something. Work it out there.”

“Somewhere within that suggestion,” Nate cutted sharply, “Mason actually has a point. I don’t know what the elephant in the room is but please, for all our sakes, address it.“

Adam sighed.  _Great. Now the team is playing Cyrano._  Pinching the bridge of his nose, he decided to lean against a pillar to take a breather.  _”_ Things are…complicated between us right now. And the mission comes first.“

"Yet here we are. Emma is missing and in all likelihood unwilling to talk to any of us,” Nate replied. It wasn’t hard to miss the pointedness in his voice, much more the awful truth it spoke. “Listen. I know it’s hard but for the love of god. If you care at all for this girl then tell her the truth.”

“The truth?”

“I’m guessing this is the part where you talk about your… _feelings_ ,” Mason shuddered. Felix choked back a snicker as the deep baritone of Mason’s voice registered over their comm lines. “Even I’ve had it with the weirdness between you two.”

“I gotta say though,” Felix began with a light chuckle, “this is an accomplishment. You got Mason, out of all people, to be fed up with  _your_  love life.”

“Your glibness isn’t helping bartender.” Adam snapped back. “Anyway. Nate have you spotted her yet?”

“Relax Mr. Humphry. Come by and I’ll pour you a drink. Just give Nate a few minutes”

“Adam doesn’t drink on the job,” Mason replied, “even though there’s no risk of getting drunk. I, on the other hand, could use a beer.“

“It’s the principle behind the act that I’m against.” Adam adjusted his cuffs, his hands fumbling with the cufflinks of his suit. His cheeks were growing more flushed at their ribbing, but his voice remained its usual pointedness.“Oh lighten up Rob,” Felix replied back, trying to suppress a laugh but failing anyway, “M’s just bored.”

"You can’t blame him. I’d be bored too just standing as the escape driver,” Nate replied gently, “I’ll radio in once I have her in my scopes, Mr. Humphry. Until then a drink for the nerves doesn’t seem so bad. Remember Sarajevo in 1915?“

“That one was completely different.”

“A rogue fellow supernatural, unsurmountable odds, fancy dress parties to drown out whatever chaos is in the world at the moment. I think they have plenty in common.”

“Well, when you put it that way, a beer sounds definitely deserved,” Mason quipped, “F. Save me a bottle.”

Adam snorted back at their comments. Nate was unusually silent — in all likelihood was doing his job at this point — while Felix and Mason were still discussing what drinks to order (such as the merits of mead versus lager versus ale) and whether they should toast now or later. Their voices sounded distant in his ear as Adam drummed his fingers against the marble, his mind was still swimming with all the possible ways the night could play out.

_Trust in her and her abilities. You already did more harm than good by trying to protect her by keeping her in the dark about your plans. The least you could do is not to jeopardize the rest of her mission with your sulking._

_In hindsight, admittedly, that plan was doomed to fail but what would you have me do? Embolden her to take even riskier missions?  We’re sending her to seduce a desire demon who thinks the promise of murder is an acceptable of foreplay! The anomaly in her blood is the only protection she has and we both know that’s not enough to keep her safe!_

_But what choice did the team have? What choice do you have? A solider follows his orders and yours were very clear: bring the demon alive for interrogation. You know how many times has this killer slipped under the Agency’s radar only to surface again and again and again. You know the exact number of innocent lives that were lost to this demon. And yet, you can’t even find the resolve to use Emma to take your best shot in the how many years the Agency has been chasing this man!_

_Emma is not someone to be gambled with!_

_And why not? You both knew very well the risks and repercussions of allowing her to join Bravo when she requested the Agency for it. You could have easily told Rebecca and the other higher-ups she was too much of a liability on the field and her blood anomaly made her too much of an asset to lose. Her mother would’ve deferred to your judgement to have another unit assigned to safeguard her while you could’ve continued your duties without so much of a blink of an eye. Instead, you gave the damn speech about how much you trusted Emma and her judgement, and how more than half the agency could stand to learn a few things from her! Where’s that confidence, Adam? What the hell changed?_

_I…._

“Shit.”

“Did you see something,” asked Mason. There was a twinge of excitement in his friend’s voice – one that spoke of how much the vampire wanted a little more action for the evening, instead of waiting by the car for a quick getaway.

“No. Nothing. Ignore that.”

There was a grunt of disapproval on the other end of the line.  _Someone must be very bored indeed_ , Adam mused.

“Hey Rob,” Nate began, “am now just a few paces next to Felix right so use that as your point of reference.”

“Got it. What’s her status?”

"Well. Looks like Ilsa is…flirting with the target? They appear to be getting into a dancing position.”

_Doesn’t sound too horrible. She can handle—_

"Word around here is that they’re going to tango. Someone’s playing it a little close to the edge,” Felix quipped. Adam heard an audible  _clack_ of (likely) Felix’s shoe hitting the floor, no doubt the youngest member of the team getting close to the excitement. “The crowd is a little thick to get through but I’m pretty sure I can get front row seats to the excitement.”

_Well shit._

“This is not a joke Felix. You need to be focused in case things go south.” Adam exhaled sharply before shoving his way to the center of the room. His nerves were unravelling fast, heart leaping to his throat _._ His intuition had always been spot on. And his gut was telling him that Emma was in more danger than he thought or realized.

And he only had himself to blame. 

_Damnit, Adam! This is what you get for not being straight with her. You’re about to lose the one person in god knows how many centuries mattered more to you than duty or honor ever did._

_And you’re going to lose her because you’re a damn coward_

Shaking his head, his fists clenched as he radioed in the rest of his orders. If he didn’t do something soon, it might be too late for Emma. “N, keep your finger on Moreau. If it looks too risky, you know what to do.”

“Copy that. Just say the word and we’ll have one less incubus to worry about.”

“Oh and Adam,” Nate added, “I don’t like this as much as you do, but remember, any small gesture could put Emma at risk. I trust your judgement and all but this mission already has gone sideways enough.”

“Tell me something I haven’t told myself.”

“Okay. As a friend to you and to Emma: try not to break each other’s hearts.”


	5. Chapter Five: Check or Checkmate?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: 
> 
> WARNING: there’s non-con kissing involved in this chapter. Moreau is meant to be squicky and there’s nothing remotely romantic about what he does. The fic itself though is safe for work – no explicit parts here.

It was a blur of faces and music.

The swell of the orchestra bore into Emma’s skin as the tempo began to spin faster and faster. She was in and out of Moreau’s orbit – forcing the chase between them – when towards the end of their dance, out of the corner of her eye, she saw  _him_  making his way to the front.

Short cropped blonde hair. Dark green eyes. A near permanent frown etched upon proud features that she had managed to turn into a smile.

[Once upon a time at least]

Time slowed between them. The trills of the violins, the hammering of the piano keys, and the reverberating sounds of the bass that had suddenly dulled into white noise. It was only Moreau’s grip around Emma’s waist that had been the vague reminder that she wasn’t alone in the room with Adam.  

That mattered little though.

Emma’s heart leapt at her throat as Adam’s dark green eyes seemed to just…meet hers. In that finite minute between a moment and forever, even if she tried to keep her focus on Moreau and the mission and everything else, something in the air changed. It would’ve been easier to pretend he wasn’t there, that Adam meant nothing to her, and that this was business as usual. A part of her wished that they were still mad at each other; that for whatever reason he had to be nearby was due to the job they had to do, and not (likely) out of worry for her.

Believing what Adam had told her minutes before as truth — that he had underestimated her and the situation, at least that she was used to dealing with back at Wayhaven — would have made this moment  _so_ much more easier to swallow.

But denial can only go so far.

From across the ballroom — hating how much her own eyes gave away that she was just as mad as much as she cared — she couldn’t help but ask in the quiet of that moment:  _Why? Why are you here?_

Beneath the storm of Adam’s gaze, one that so often clouded his thoughts, he replied just as silently:  _Because the thought of a world without you terrifies me._

Emma stumbled at the weight of his unsaid confession and Moreau catching her with such ease that one would have assumed it had been part of their number. He then dipped her, his hand resting on the curve of her lower back, with his impossibly beautiful eyes staring down at her. Under his predatory scrutiny, Emma felt a long rivulet of sweat bead down her back as the incubus searched her eyes for an inkling for her fall. A smirk tugged as his lips. Tilting her chin upwards, he let his hand rest at the bottom of her face — forcing Emma to look at him and only him.

“Distracted my dear?”

“If you’re talking about the view,“ Emma then smiled, hoping it was convincing enough to hide her distractedness from earlier, “most certainly. It’s been awhile since I had a partner that could leave me….breathless.“

He chuckled. Moreau then leaned in, his breath fanning across her cheeks, “Oh Ilsa, if you’re going to lie, lie  _better_.”

Emma blanched while Moreau smirked at her reaction. “Oh come come. You don’t think as an incubus I wouldn’t be able to tell how you truly felt about me? I don’t know if I should feel so insulted by how the Agency views my competence or amused by it.” Barely allowing her to regain her footing on the ground, his hand held hers in a vice like grip. The music had died down and instead a rain of thunderous applause began to pour in. The two of them took their bows — their hands still linked — and once Moreau had enough of his crowd’s adoration, he spun her back into his arms, with one arm securely wrapped around her and his free hand cupping her cheek. There was a hail of wolf whistles and cheering, the crowd sounding off with "ooooh’s” and the chant of “KISS HER! KISS HER!”

Moreau’s smile now had turned into a monstrous grin. “Do you hear that? Look at how much the crowd adores us! We can’t disappoint them can we Ilsa? Or should I say Detective Knightley?“

Emma’s face hardened into stoicness, trying as much as she can to repress the surprise from her face. She shifted her stance slightly, legs ready to swivel out of his hold, but Moreau stopped her with a simple smile. A wave of calm washed over her, a sort of numb passivity, that had stilled her. The incubus delighted in at her shock. His tongue then clicked teasingly, “ _Ah tut tut_. I wouldn’t struggle too much if I were you. Your vampires were tagged the moment you all entered the venue. The one on the roof may have his eyes on me but, uh, as you say, my agents I suppose have their eyes on  _them_.”

Moreau then slowly pivoted them, allowing Emma to see how well guarded the place actually was. At every nook and corner, every pillar and table, Emma could faintly make out the details of some shadowy beings lurking behind the crowd.  _There must be at least a hundred of them_ , she thought. Once he sensed that she understood her predicament, the incubus then continued. “So if I were you, I’d behave. I wouldn’t want their blood on your hands, no?”

Emma glowered at him. Moreau gave a strained chuckle while they continued their ‘encore’ performance, only to stop once they were in the line of sight of a certain brooding blonde haired agent. Emma’s back was turned against Adam’s gaze — unsure of how his face looked at this very moment, but even she could just imagine how white with worry and anger he was — while Moreau had the agent’s attention. 

 _“_ To see the great  _Monsieur_ Adam du Mortain arrive with you tonight was a surprise to say the least. Clever trick using that glamour to mask yourselves but to stoop to such parlor tricks? Still, to think the Agency is desperate enough to send Bravo after me…well, maybe I should be honored,” the incubus said. Despite the question being addressed to Emma, he didn’t look at her. His focus remained on Adam whose aura had cooled into a tranquil fury.

He then pressed a kiss onto the crown of Emma’s head, reveling in the thunder in Adam’s eyes and the way that Emma was squirming under his touch. The detective felt a trail of goosebumps down her arms — a surge of pleasure prickling through her skin, no doubt Moreau’s doing, with her own disgust trailing right behind — as the throaty chuckle of the incubus reverberated through her body. “Such a shame. I usually enjoy these high-risk missions but alas this one was doomed from the beginning. I must admit though I was entertained by that memory of yours. I barely had to thrall you to see what I needed to see and yet I would have never guessed that Agent Mortain had the capacity for feeling anything other than anger and vengeance.”

“You know  _nothing_  about him,” Emma spat back. There was an edge to her voice, venom dripping from every word. “He’s not monster. Not like  _you_.”

Moreau then pressed another kiss, this time on the tip of her nose. “I’d have to agree to that,  _ma cherie_. He’s far worse.”  

His lips then moved to press a kiss on the right side of her cheek. “Do you know what our kind calls the Agency? Murderers. Traitors. Kinslayers. They believe that they’re upholding some form of peace and balance between our two worlds but that is a filthy lie. They’d like us to believe that  _we_  are the threat, that our very existence is more harmful than humanity could ever dream of reaching. But let me ask you, who burned our kind at the stakes and drowned them in rivers? Who tried to bind us to this plane to do their bidding and then torture us for failing to do so? Who had summoned us, blinded us with promises of alliances and friendship, so that we would fight their wars to avoid spilling their own precious blood?”

His fingers gripped her chin, forcing Emma to see the fury in his eyes. “Our kind, what you humans call the supernatural, are  _not_  the monsters. Humanity has by far spilled the most blood in all of this world’s histories combined and yet that damnable Agency thinks we are the ones who should answer for crimes that humans have similarly done without so much as batting an eyelash.”

Moreau then moved to ghost along her left cheek, pressing another kiss there. His gaze then returned to Adam’s, whose fists had begun to clench and mouth had thinned into a line, before addressing Emma again. “And  _Monsieur_ du Mortain is the worst. The Agency’s champion. The unsung savior of humanity. And an unrepentant traitor and genocidal killer of his own kind.  _Quel salaud!_ ”  

“And killing innocent humans is your way of revenge?”

“ _Il faut qu'une porte soit ouverte ou fermée._ There is no such thing as an innocent human, detective. In all of your history, not once had a human stepped forth with so much an apology or desire to acknowledge the evil they’ve done. From Lilith to my own brother, Michel, humanity has robbed us of the stars that would’ve lit our sky. And now…until humanity has paid for all the blood they’ve spilt with their own, I will never be satisfied. _”_

Moreau’s eyes then flitted to Emma’s before moving back to meet Adam’s — the air hanging heavily between the three of them. “The Agency sent you here because you assumed I was going to kill. Truth be told, I wasn’t in the mood tonight, but now…dinner plans have changed.”

His gaze then dropped to Emma’s lips — her stomach lurching forward at the attention, bile rising so much she could taste the bitterness on her tongue — as fear and panic began to take hold of her. Moreau inhaled deeply, sighing at some sort of pleasure Emma wasn’t sure of. “Don’t make that face. If you keep that up, we might not last as long and the night is still young. But I must admit it would be rude of me to completely steal you away without talking to your hosts first,” he said with a mocking sort of affection. He then pushed back a few stray strands of hair, tucking it behind her ear — her body instinctively shivering at how intimate the act was but hating how much the incubus had perverted such a loving gesture — to activate her earpiece. “ _Cher_ Bravo:  _Va te faire foutre._ ”

 


	6. Chapter Six: Chekov's Driver is Mason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’ll explain more about that headcanon for Felix and Adam’s reaction to what happens in this chapter in a separate one shot for the former and a later chapter in this fic for the latter
> 
> WARNING: There's non-graphic descriptions of violence, although still described.

“WHAT THE HELL—”

The crackle of Mason’s voice over her earpiece was soon destroyed with a single touch of Moreau’s finger on the device. Ash billowed in the wind, the dust carrying it to the low rumbling of something pressing against the windows shook the very ballroom. Emma stilled herself, fear seeping into her blood, with the rest of the crowd as a momentary silence hung over everyone. Even Bravo had to halt whatever plans had over the uncertainty that had consumed the atmosphere.

There was the first crack.

Then the second.

And at the third, a black mass of shadows barrelled through the glass, a thousand fragments twisting around the darkness, with a resounding  _kkkkkrrrrrshh,_ flinging the shards at a distance to those trying to escape and injuring the rest of the frightened crowd into a paralytic stillness.

The shadows that Emma had once thought were agents were actually not, only ghost-like apparitions made of the same darkness that had disrupted the gala.They forced themselves into bodies nearest to them — entering through nostrils and mouths, and bursting through their chests to exit — dragging the souls of their victims through an unsteady exhale. Emma’s skin pricked, her mouth hanging open, as she could do nothing but watch as one by one people fell into crumpled heaps: eyes white with death, and the growing pool of blood staining the marbled floor.

This was a slaughter

Moreau’s smile rested on Emma’s cheek, inhaling deeply, one arm draping itself over her shoulders knowing that Emma was either too smart or scared to make a move. “Frightened yet?”

“Only a fool wouldn’t be,” came the reply. Emma steeled herself, trying to soothe her fraying nerves into resolve, as her fists clenched to her sides despite the carnage. “But I will stop you, Moreau.  _I will stop you._ And for every soul you take here I will make sure you pay a hundred fold.”

The incubus could barely contain his guffaw. The corners of his mouth turned lopsided, the hearty laugh spilling over his lips over the thought that Emma, a human mortal with no real powers, could actually stop him. “ _Mon dieu_. I have not heard anything so funny since Sarajevo in 1915!” Despite the tears in his eyes, Moreau’s gaze then flitted to the scattered forms of Unit Bravo attempting to avoid the black tendrils attempting to draw them close amidst the general chaos that the ballroom has erupted in. From laughter to a smirk, he then whispered against Emma’s skin.

“Shall I show you exactly why the Agency is no better than the monsters they say they’re sworn to guard the world against?”

He thew his arm upwards, the shadows following his movements, punching through the roof to slam down a sweat-slicked Nate onto the floor. Blood seeped into his clothes, red staining the black fabric and the calloused hands Emma had known to be almost too gentle for an agent of the Agency. Nate staggered into a stand before the overwhelming scent of blood had dragged him onto his knees as his pupils begin to dilate over the need to feed. “ _Tu as faim_ , Agent Seawell?”

Emma tried to take a step forward, only to have Moreau shoot her a  _tutting_ finger wag before gesturing to the precarious state her teammate had found himself in. “Ah, ah, ah. I would warn against sudden movements Detective. Agent Seawell has always had trouble with his…urges.”

Slowly, Nate half-dazedly brought his hands up, as if in shock over how soaked his palms were. His fangs have begun to protrude, body shaking as he tried to keep whatever sanity he can keep from disappearing completely. “You…you bastard,” Nate gritted through his teeth, a pained choked breath leaving him as he tried to steady the rising need to feed. “Was was this your plan?”

Moreau sighed. His eyes rolled in mild annoyance as he released Emma — shooting her a warning gaze:  _take a step out of line and I can promise you ma cherie I do not take kindly to disobedience_ — to move towards Nate. “Oh wouldn’t you like to know of my plans?”

“Great. We had to get a monologuer,” Nate quipped. A tight smile graced his lips as he locked his eyes onto Emma.  _It’s okay. Everything…will…be o…kay._

She wordlessly nodded, imperceptible to anyone else except to her and Nate.  _I know, Nate. I know. And I have a plan on how to at least shift the momentum somewhat but the cavalry needs time to get here_. She then nudged her bracelet to her thigh, the band glinting a sliver of red along the clasp to show some button had been pressed.  _It’s a good thing he talks a lot, yeah?_

A grimace formed on Nate’s face, brows furrowing as the temptation for blood grew for every body Moreau continued to take. With whatever resolve he could will into himself, he pressed his earpiece, both hands clasped over his ears. “Emma…Emma….”

_Stay with us, Nate. You can fight—_

Moreau clicked his tongue disapprovingly, breaking whatever conversation the two might’ve had, as he then took a sauntering walk around the Nate, taunting him to stand, knowing that once the vampire does, instinct would’ve already taken over. “The smell must be so tempting for you,” a mirthless grin lacing his features, making him look all the more predatory and dangerous. “Even I could tell that there’s something otherworldly about her blood. She should be delicious to your species, I’m sure.”

“I…would…never—“

“Ah, at least willingly,  _oui_? But I wonder how long you can resist. Maybe you need an audience to help you along.”

He only had to stretch out his arm, palm raising upwards, as smoke-like tendrils had finally caught up to Adam and Felix, slamming them to the wall facing Nate’s prone body. The impact of Moreau’s attack left the wood and concrete splintering, the darkness keeping them both there. “Adam!” Emma screamed, the words slipping from her mouth too easily and too quickly for her to stop as her body had almost leapt forward to go to him, only barely able to halt herself because she could feel Moreau smirk boring into the back of her skull. He had them all hostaged and they all knew it.

_Except maybe for the one who’s on his way_

_Shit. I really hope he’s on his way_

“Really Emma? No love for your favourite vampire?” Felix teased despite the pain flooding his nerves at this very moment. Moreau’s smile dimmed just a fraction before tightening his hold on the vampire. Felix’s handsome features scrunched tightly, his mouth tightening as he refused to scream for the incubus.

“And there’s the blood traitor.”

He shifted his gaze completely to look at Felix, his green eyes darkening into night — even the scelera of his eyes turning into black — as he drew close to where he was holding them. “The scion of one of the purest bloodlines in the known supernatural world turning coat all because someone had praised him with pretty lies and empty flattery. How is your family by the way?”

For the first time, Emma saw the tenseness in his jaw, the anger that threatened to spill over in waves if he hadn’t been restrained. Whatever the story behind Moreau’s remark had been too personal to mention, even for the easy going vampire that Felix was. His mouth curled into an uncharacteristic snarl, his fangs almost bearing themselves at the question, “none of your goddamn business!”

“Funny. I’ve always thought you were the type to praise Agent Knightley until the sun rises, or to talk at length over your parents. Or would’ve right if you hadn’t killed them, no?” Moreau laughed mirthlessly in reply as he held a more crushing hold onto Felix — a wordless scream escaping from his lips. “Ah, but such topics are so dreary for a wonderful night like this. Let’s cut right to the chase, shall we?”

He then curled his finger towards Emma, who had dug her feet to the ground in adamant refusal and protest, but was little match for the shadows that had gripped her as if she were nothing more than a doll. They brought her to Moreau, her gaze dark and defiant as she kept her eyes on him. The incubus’ hand curled around her neck, his hand morphing into a claw as a finger began to stroke on a vein along her neck. A ball of anxiety knotted themselves into her stomach, as the pressure on her jugular increased.

“ _Let. Her. Go._ ”

There was an edge to Adam’s voice that delighted Moreau. The smugness in his eyes and the corners of his mouth were hard to miss as Moreau continued his ministrations on the detective. The leader of Bravo flickered to look at Emma, concern weighing over his features — a thought that no doubt pleased Moreau — before another imperceptible nod took place between the two of them

_I’m not sure what you told Nate but what do you need for your plan to work?_

_Time. I called the cavalry— wait, hang on how did you…wait, nevermind. You’re trusting me on this?_

Adam smiled a furtive smile that only lasted for a fraction of a second — one that few could tell unless they knew exactly how to read him — and yet spoke volumes in such a small amount of time.

_With my life_

Emma’s eyes widened at their unsaid conversation. Adam was trusting — no,  _is_  trusting her — on her gamble. She nodded back, the weight of her bracelet seemingly heavier than ever before, as she opened her mouth to speak.

“Adam. Adam,  _please_ ,” Emma began, her nerves steeling themselves for her final performance of the night. “Just…just get the team out.”

A smirk was on Moreau’s lips once more. “Whatever happened to your fire,  _ma cherie_? I thought you would make me pay with my life a thousand fold?”

He then pressed against her neck, the discomfort growing there as he tightened his hold on her  windpipe. “And don’t you think you would would be an excellent addition to my vengeance? The daughter of that  _bitch_  of a superior whose interference into demon affairs caused the life of my brother.”

“I would much rather live,” she replied, her eyes leaving Moreau’s before locking in on Felix’s, then Nate’s struggling body, and then finally Adam’s. The green of his eyes, bright with worry and understanding of what needs to be done, quietly encouraging her. “But I know when to cut my losses and make use of the cards in my hand.”

“Detective.  _Don’t_.”

“Well, what choice do we have, Adam?”

Adam then locked his gaze at Moreau, his mouth thinning into a line but there was a certain air of defiance between the two of them. A wordless exchange began to chill the air, the already tense atmosphere between the two only seemed to intensify after every swipe of Moreau’s finger on Emma’s neck.

“Yes, tell me what choice do you have Agent Mortain. You are in no position to bargain.”

Moreau then brought Emma closer to Nate, his claw ready to draw blood. “One cut and your precious detective will be mutilated like the corpses in Wayhaven. I’m sure you remember what I’m referring to.”

Adam’s gaze bored into Moreau’s, the incubus frowning at the intensity of Team Bravo’s leader’s conviction. “And let me ask you. What happened to Murphy?”

Moreau sneered. “Do not compare me to that amateur.”

He gestured for his shadows to throw Emma towards Nate — fangs fully formed and pupils blown wide in dilation — a hiss leaving the vampire as Emma’s pulse began to sing to him. “Like I for one make sure to not leave any evidence.”

As Emma steadied herself, blood now clinging to her body mingling with the scent of her own unspilt blood, hands raised just slightly as if trying to soothe him. Moreau then turned to face Adam, delighting in the way he had begun to thrash against his grip, before forcing his attention back at the detective.

“Any last words,  _ma cherie_?”

She opened her mouth to speak when her bracelet glinted green at the clasp, the tiny sliver of color shifting wildly between saturations of green. Hope began to swell to the corners of her face as she then grinned wildly at Moreau.

“ _Va te faire foutre._ ”

Moreau’s eyes widened at how this mortal dared echo his own words against him. “You…you dare—“

The thunderous crash of glass and steel breaking shook the entire ballroom as a huge black van barrelled through the windows and rammed straight at the incubus – sending him flying into the nearest wall. The tendrils that had held Felix and Adam captive dissipated — the two of them running to Nate and Emma, with the former finally able to flee to wash off the stench of blood off him.

“Next time, can you not pick a time when I’m being swarmed with whatever demon magic that was?”

Somehow Mason had materialized next to Emma, much to the former’s surprise. "When…how did you–”

“Not important. Can you fight?” Mason then took a pistol out of his coat pocket, handing the grip end to Emma. She nodded back, taking the gun with a renewed sense of conviction. A smirk settled onto Mason’s face – something that the detective found contagious.

“Let’s kick its ass.”


End file.
